Dean, I wrote a poem for you
by impalabro
Summary: Dean and Castiel post-7x17, pre-Purgatory.
1. Chapter 1

A rustle of wings. He hears Castiel's voice, hesitant but pining.

"Hey, Dean?"

"Yeah?" His own voice is gruff.

"I…I wrote you a poem. Would you like to hear it?"

Cas' new outlook on life did have its advantages, but Dean got a little tired of it all sometimes. It was like looking after a child, a petulant one at that.

"I'm all ears." He sighs as he watches Cas produce a crumpled piece of paper from the side pocket of his trench coat. Dean notes that he's still wearing the uniform they gave him at the hospital.

"Hey, isn't it time you…uhh…ditched the getup?" Cas looks puzzled. "I mean, you've been wearing that thing since you got out the hospital."

Pulling off his ever pensive expression, Cas briefly reverts to his old persona in earnest. "No, Dean. These clothes are symbolic of the relieving of my burden. Why should I ever want to take them off? I wear them with pride and alacrity."

"All right all right," Dean says, rolling his eyes, "get on with the poem already."

Cas clears his throat and reads proudly from the paper, although Dean gets the impression that he could probably recite the whole thing without it.

"_We first meet_

_You're complete_

_Bobby tries to hit me_

_I put him to sleep_

_Raised you_

_Anew_

_From perdition_

_Castiel on a mission_

_Gripped you tight_

_Angel in white_

_(Except not white but more brown-gray)_

_But oh well, hey!"_

Dean stands impassively after the poem has finished, unimpressed. He watches as Castiel's face falls slowly at his reaction. Delight descends into hurt.

"Do you not like it?" Disappointment creeps into his husky voice, and his brow furrows.

"I, uhm. Does it just end like that?"

"W-Well," Cas stammers, "I was hoping it would turn out to be one of those clever lines that loop back to the beginning. You know?"

"…"

"S-So after the 'hey', you would go straight back to 'we first meet', so it's like you're saying 'hey' to me and I like that because we never got to say hello properly." His voice falters at the end. He shuffles shyly.

Dean's about to say something else, but another rustle and Cas is gone.


	2. Chapter 2

Cas doesn't appear to Dean for a while after that. He spends most of his days in Heaven, watching the kite float in the perpetually blue sky. It's calming and he often finds himself sitting on the neat grass, permanently attuned to Dean's thoughts.

I've never been able to figure him out, he ponders.

Dean's always thinking about Sam, no matter what else is occupying his mind space at the time. There's that little spot in his head reserved for his brother. Most of the time, he's worrying. _Sammy, where are you? I'm losing you, man. I barely recognise you. How can I protect you? _He goes on like this, a stream of uninterrupted fear, until he's distracted by something. In his eternal Tuesday afternoon, Cas briefly considers what it's like to carry Dean's burden.

_He imagines a child of 4, running out of a house ablaze with fire and pain and death, supporting his baby brother in the tightest of grips. He doesn't look back at the prison to which his mother is forever bound. He feels his father behind him, gently urging him further from the fire, whispering to him. He's still carrying Sam, safe in his blanket, cooing. Dean looks into his brother's eyes, perfectly round and bright under the orange glow. Sam looks back at him. Dean wants to tell him it's okay, but he isn't sure he understands himself what is happening._

_He imagines an older Dean coming to terms with Azazel. He sees his brother fall, the cursed blade marking him from behind in a twist of silver, the culprit disappearing into the dark after the deed. He sees Dean sink to his knees in front of him amidst the rain and the mud, wrapping his arms around his baby brother's frame. His cheeks catch the flow from his eyes, guiding the water as it blends into the drops coming down from the sky. _

_He feels Dean touch the pool of red on the back of Sam's jacket. "It's not even that bad, Sammy." His words are an anxious whisper in his brother's ear. "It's not even that bad." Dean tries to soothe him, to reassure him, but he doesn't believe it himself. His voice betrays him. It's shaking, low and heavy and sad. Sam barely hears him. _

_"Sammy?" He pleads. I'll do anything. If you're there, take me. Please. Just take me. Anyone but him. It's my job to look after him. It's the only thing I'm good for. It's what I've been trying to do all my goddamn excuse for a life. There's nothing for me if I don't have Sammy. _

_He wrenches his eyes open. His breath rips out of him and his cry reaches beyond the clouds and into the world above as he hugs his brother. Nothing else matters. Only this moment. He grabs at Sam's collar and his jacket, shaking his soul back into his body, willing him to return._

_"SAM!"_

_Thunder rumbles in the black sky, swallowing up the echoes of his voice. Dean buries his face into Sam's shoulder as the rain pours over them both. _

Cas decides to stop there; it will only get worse, and he knows this for a fact. How could it not? Everything gets worse when an angel comes down to play.

Especially when I came down, Cas reflects. And it is very much true. He finds himself admiring Dean, admiring his selflessness and sense of duty. He wishes he had been as grounded. Even in Dean's most terrible moments, the moments he thought so lowly of himself that Cas felt he was intruding by listening in, Dean was still the better person.

And yet he'd had to cope with so much. _Just another load of crap I gotta deal with_, Cas had heard him think. He was hit with a sudden sense of shame. All of his own worries, which had seemed of monumental importance at the time, had now dwindled into nothing. It felt like something which had happened to somebody else. He was so disconnected from his recent past, the whole ordeal with Crowley and the Leviathan, that he couldn't believe the direction his ideas and beliefs had taken.

What was I thinking? His forehead crinkles in confusion. Perhaps taking on Sam's burden really has changed me.

He doesn't notice he's not the only thing that has changed. Everywhere in his heaven, the heaven he has come to know so well ever since that first day many years ago, there are differences. They can't be called unwelcome, or foreign, just different. The azaleas are a darker shade of red. The bushes are trimmed with greater care, but the leaves face away from the sun. There's a greater ratio of sky to cloud. He doesn't acknowledge them because they are already a part of him; the new him.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean doesn't know it, but Cas spends quite a bit of his time watching him. He's had his suspicions before; the air feels different sometimes, as if it's been affected by some disturbance in the room. Usually he attributes it to too many years spent on the job. _You learn to suspect everything. You can't trust anything or anybody. _When Sam's out doing research or interviewing, Dean lies on his crummy motel bed, beer in hand, losing himself in his own thoughts. There's so much space in that guy's head, Cas thinks. Dean ponders over a lot of things. Cas is mildly surprised by how often he features in his thoughts.

One sentence in particular reaches out to him, a line which shines more brightly than all the others, a line which will always be beyond Cas' understanding.

_I miss the old you, Cas._

"The old me?"

The bottle flies out of Dean's hand.

"Dammit, Cas! I told you to stop listening in." He sounds almost embarrassed, and keeps his head turned away. His fingers drum incessantly on his knees.

"You're referring to me before I took on Sam's burden?"

"Quit calling it that."

"I'm being entirely truthful. I don't understand...why would you...miss it?"

_Because you've changed, Cas. You damn idiot. I can't even talk to you without it turning into some therapy session. Didn't we have something before?_

"I don't miss it. I-just a passing thought, you know? Doesn't mean anything."

"Oh, Dean. You know, a largely misinformed man once said to me that the mind is opinion's mirror, not the mouth. I guess he was more informed than I gave him credit for."

Dean chuckles, shaking his head. His smile slowly dies. He sits straighter and stares up at Cas sadly. His mouth begins to form a word, but he seems to stop himself midway.

_See? Those moments. Right there. I miss them. I miss you making smartass comments about stuff that doesn't make sense. I miss just being able to pass the time with you without feeling like I'm doing anything at all. _An uncomfortable sensation he can't justify rises in him as he hears Dean think this.

"Cas?"

"Yes, Dean?"

"How is it that you can change so fast? I mean, one minute you're all hyped up in your happy land, and the next, it's like you're back to how you were before. I don't get it." He takes a swig of beer.

"I'm none the wiser, Dean. Sometimes it feels right to do one thing, sometimes it doesn't." He hesitates. "I guess…when I'm near you, I'm more inclined to be…uhm…in my happy land. I can't explain it." In the most matter-of-fact way, he adds, "perhaps I'm attracted to you."

Dean spits out his beer. Before he can say anything, Cas inserts: "Strictly speaking, I haven't been attracted to anything before, so I wouldn't know the feeling. That was just a guess."

Dean smiles unconvincingly, rubbing his neck. Both of them are silent for a while. Cas stands in the corner of the room absentmindedly.

Dean takes a breath, his next sentence promising to be the start of an awkward exchange. He tries to be casual about it.

"Oh yeah, about that poem you came out with…"

Cas suddenly looks scared, his entire demeanour changing. "W-What about it?"

"It was…"

Dean's words stick in his throat as he tries to draw them up. He can't well tell him that he thought it was, well, sweet. Something about it had hit him with some feeling he couldn't place. _You're complete._ That was the line. The more Dean considered it, the more he thought it to be true. He'd always felt comfortable with Cas, with his dry humour and complete lack of understanding about anything that wasn't to do with angels. There was a point when he couldn't imagine his life without Cas' infrequent appearances. After everything that had happened with Crowley, how angry Dean had been, and still was, with him, how much he had wanted to punch him and yell at him and cry over him, he still found himself happier when Cas was around. There's a part of him that thinks Cas might just feel the same. But he doesn't say any of this to him.

He coughs.

"It was good. Good rhyming."


End file.
